


at the threshold of armageddon

by en-sam-malas (Hugabug)



Category: Black Friday - Team StarKid, The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Arguing, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Established Relationship, M/M, Married Couple, Moral Dilemmas, Morality, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23698669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hugabug/pseuds/en-sam-malas
Summary: “Howard Goodman? Nuclear bombs?” Xander hisses, narrowing his eyes. “You think something like that can do something about this? We have better chances of neutralizing Wiggly’s followers than trusting a clueless politician with a big fat bomb, and you know it."John feels a sigh of frustration build up in his chest, but holds it back. Letting it out will only fan the flames and that is the last thing he wants to do right now. “If we can scare Wiggly straight we wouldn’t have to neutralize anyone, and with a nuclear weapon we can do exactly that. Goodman is the elected democratic leader of the United States--”“Bullshit.”--General John McNamara and Dr. Xander Lee of special unit P.E.I.P. have a conversation before the end of the world.
Relationships: Xander Lee/John McNamara
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	at the threshold of armageddon

**[P.E.I.P. HQ, Washington, DC]**

The briefing ends as abruptly as it had been called. With a final order, John and Xander send their intermediate team into a flurry of action, with one half of the group getting ready for the rough ride out to the White House and the other half to the labs to help their resident scientists with preparing the portal for use. Little by little, the room empties of their agents until the only ones left are John and Xander.

It's silent for a bit, as John watches Xander watch him. He’d been ignoring his husband’s staring all throughout the briefing, carefully directing his gaze to their various officers, but now that they’re gone, John can avoid Xander no longer. There's a tightness around his husband's eyes, a determined set in his jaw that matches the tension keeping his hands clenched at his sides and his feet firmly planted in place. Xander will not be moved now, John knows, and he is not in the mood to be moved until he says his piece. So, John does instead, closing the briefing folder before going to close the conference room door.

The second the lock clicks shut, Xander takes a deep breath. Speaks; “This is madness, John.”

"Is anything we do remotely sane, Xan?"

Xander doesn’t reply, doesn’t even roll his eyes like he would when incensed at something John has done. Instead, he crosses his arms, the expression upon his face growing more thunderous by the second. John tries his best not to flinch, tries his best not to stray from his carefully schooled blank face, but nevertheless could feel his own shoulders square up and his jaw set in preparation. This is a conversation he’d rather not have, but it’s one he knows they must. So he prepares himself for the barrage he knows is coming.

“Howard Goodman? Nuclear bombs?” Xander hisses, narrowing his eyes. “You think something like that can do something about _this_? We have better chances of neutralizing Wiggly’s followers than trusting a clueless politician with a big fat bomb, and you know it."

John feels a sigh of frustration build up in his chest, but holds it back. Letting it out will only fan the flames and that is the last thing he wants to do right now. “If we can scare Wiggly straight we wouldn’t have to neutralize anyone, and with a nuclear weapon we can do exactly that. Goodman is the elected democratic leader of the United States--”

“Bullshit.”

“-- of America. Legally, he’s the only one capable of securing this truce with Wiggly.”

“Ok, questionable voting conditions of America aside, what makes you think an eldritch god of a nether realm would even _care_ about legality at this point?”

“Wiggly can play dirty all he wants but that doesn’t mean we have to stoop to his level.”

“He doesn’t _have_ levels, John. Nothing is sacred to him, don’t you get it? Justice, truth-- these are human things. Wiggly won’t pat you on the back for taking them into account. He doesn’t care-- that son of a bitch doesn’t play by our rules.”

“They’re more than just rules, Xander. They’re more than just “human things”-- they’re what _make us_ human. You’ve seen the atrocities of war. I’ve been a witness to them, too. Many times. In Afghanistan. In Iraq. The murder, the colonisation, the greed, all of those things exist because somewhere along the line, someone forgot that justice and truth and compassion and empathy go hand in hand. They broke the wheel, Xander. I refuse to break it further.”

“Yeah, but this is different, isn’t it? This isn’t a group of businessmen pretending to run a country or a terrorist cell taking advantage of an oppressed social class. This is an eldritch god with powers beyond our comprehension. I know you like to believe in the strength of our own humanity, John, but you’re turning a blind eye to those who’ve already lost it. People are _killing_ each other--”

“Those people have been failed by a broken system, Xander!”

Xander breaks, then, exploding from his contained fury to gesture wildly at the window and the world beyond before stalking forward until he has a finger stabbing John in the chest with every word. “The system doesn’t matter anymore, John! Whatever rotten wheel there was before has fallen through-- it’s gone, don’t you see? It’s _fucking_ gone! It’s failed us all and now it’s gone. There is nothing to break and there is _nothing_ to fix, there’s just those who are killing and those who are being killed.” Xander takes a deep breath and a step back. Composes himself. When he’s ready, he looks John in the eye, gaze hard. 

“I know which ones I’m going to fight for, John.” he says. “Do you?”

The implication behind the question stings, and John feels it in his core, hot and damp and coiling just behind his sternum, constricting. Pulsing. An anger that has no beginning or end, trapped in his body like a fire with nowhere to go. At his side, his gun burns, a weight and a brand that he feels every step of the way. A killing machine. A burden he hates but knows he can’t get rid of. He knew it in Afghanistan. He knew it in Iraq. He knew it on that dark, humid night, as he stared into the cold, dark eyes of a deranged Wilbur Cross that laughed at him and held John’s hand steady as he pressed his own head against the barrel of John’s gun.

“ _You won’t do it, Johnny-boy._ ” his mentor had hissed. “ _Because that’s not who you are, is it? I knew it then, when I took you in, and_ we _know it now. You know it, too, don’t you? You’re not one of them_. _That’s why the trigger’s safe with you, my boy. And that’s why you’re not going to do it.”_

And he had been right. Wilbur Cross had been right. Because who was he to be the one to play god? Who was he, to hurt those who had no control over their own senses? Wilbur-- the _real_ Wilbur, the good and just Wilbur who had picked John up from the streets and given him a home, a family, a reason to keep on living-- he had chosen John, mentored him for a reason, and despite Wilbur turning on all of them the way he did, John believes that still, deep in his bones. P.E.I.P. didn’t need another leader drunk on power. The country didn’t need another machiavellian prince at the helm, calling the shots from atop his ivory tower, sacrificing lives he had no business to sacrifice and directing death upon those he did not even know. To send into battle soldiers and troops who have trained all their lives for combat is not the same as pointing a gun at civilians manipulated into a frenzy by the injustice of the world around them. John is no god. John is no Wiggly.

So John looks Xander in the eye and nods.

“I do.” he says, taking a step forward and taking his husband’s hand. “And I’m telling you, Xander, this is the only way.”

A myriad of emotions flicker across Xander’s face, from anger to pain to weary resignation. He turns away from John to process them all, his free hand coming up to cradle the despairing bow of his head. Nevertheless, he holds tight unto John’s hand, white knuckled and trembling.

“Deploy a team on the ground, at least.” He finally says, turning back with a stubborn fire that can match John’s own. “No guns, nothing that will hurt-- but with enough tranq to put an entire herd of elephants to sleep.”

John doesn’t even blink an eye. “I’ll give it to Schaeffer and Baybridge to handle. They know how to keep a crowd at bay.”

“They work fast.”

“Like nobody else I know.”

Xander frowns. “We still won’t have enough time, John.”

“Use the portal. It will take an hour to power it up for a visit to the Black&White but it’ll only take a couple of minutes for it to transport enough of the troops to the cities with the most riots.”

“And you?”

Before John can answer, the door of the conference room opens and Benedict steps in, sunglasses gleaming, mouth set in a grim light. “Sir,” he says, saluting John. “Sir we have intel that a riot has broken out within the White House premises.”

John feels his throat close up. “What?”

“Wiggly’s influence has infiltrated security somehow--”

“Of course it has,” Xander growls, eyes flashing. “Who detains a fucking _doll_?”

John squeezes his hand, shaking his head. “Benedict, send for Col. Schaeffer and Col. Baybridge and their respective lieutenant colonels immediately. I want them to meet me down by Hanger 1 in five minutes.”

Benedict wastes no time-- with a nod, he’s gone, taking off down the hall and barking orders into his comm unit. John makes to follow him, but Xander yanks him back and keeps him in place with two hands cradling John’s jaw. His grip is tight, not enough to hurt, but enough to get John to stop and look at him. See the desperation that lines his eyes. The determined set of his jaw.

“Listen to me.” he says, with a fierceness that rattles John to his core. “Be careful, you hear?”

John grips his wrists in a promise. “I will make it back to you.”

At that, Xander smiles. It’s tiny and quick, but it’s enough. John kisses it, imprints it as best he could into the frontal lobe of his brain.

“I’ll be here. I’ll get your portal ready.” Xander says when they part. His hands fall from John’s face and clenches at his sides, shaking despite the forced calm upon his face. “You better be right, John.”

John nods. Then, makes for the exit. “I hope so, Xan.” he prays. “I fucking hope so.”

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't understand John's reasoning behind his whole plan in Black Friday. So I went ahead and made this to try and figure it out.  
> [tumblr](https://www.en-sam-malas.tumblr.com)  
> [my McNamander tag](https://en-sam-malas.tumblr.com/tagged/mcnamander)


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